


Tradition

by Iverna



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: Luke finds out about Leia’s Sweethearts Day tradition, and recruits Han to help him. Han is very bad at presents, and he's not sure he even cares, anyway. But for some reason, he can’t just stay out of it, either.





	Tradition

It wasn’t often that Han noticed Luke’s mood. Or rather, it wasn’t often that he let on that he’d noticed. The kid wore most of his feelings openly on his face, but Han came from a world where noticing people’s moods could get you killed, or at least punched. It wasn’t his business.

He tried to remind himself of that. He wasn’t always great at keeping his mouth shut, though.

And he’d begun to figure out that Luke was the exact opposite of most people he knew. It was better to ask. Otherwise, he’d end up watching the kid mope around for hours, or days, and that was the worst.

So when he spotted the overly worried look in Luke’s eyes, he asked.

“What’s eating you?”

“Huh?” Luke shook his head and turned the hydrospanner in his hand. He was supposed to be helping Han repair his X-Wing; actually, Han was supposed to be helping him, but so far, he’d done most of the work. Typical.

“Oh, just thinking,” Luke said. He was silent for a moment. Then: “You, uh, have Sweethearts Day on Corellia?”

Han frowned at him. Of all the subjects… “Sure. Big holiday to sell flowers and choc boxes and jewellery to all the suckers who buy into it? ‘Course we have it.”

“Right.” Another silence, in which Han thought, with growing discomfort, about what the hells he was going to do if Luke was about to ask him for advice on girls or something. “I, uh, I asked Leia about it.”

Han’s heart performed a soaring dive to somewhere down in his stomach. Girls, he could’ve handled. But Leia? “Yeah,” he said cautiously, “they got it on Alderaan, too.”

“Yeah. She said…” Luke set down the hydrospanner. “Look, I don’t think it’s a big secret or anything, but she told me, and just… keep it to yourself, maybe?”

Told him what? Han nodded without even thinking what he was agreeing to, just to keep the kid talking.

“She told me that she and her father had this tradition, where he’d buy her a gift, every year, for Sweethearts Day. Nothing big, just… something to say that he loved her.”

A moment ago, Han’s insides had been twisting. Now, suddenly, they seemed to deflate completely. Oh.

“That’s, uh…” He sought for a word, and as usual, found a completely inadequate one. “Nice.”

“Yeah. And the thing is, I thought…” Luke seemed to be struggling for the right words, too. “I don’t want to be, y’know, weird, I know that no one can ever replace any of what she lost, and I don’t want her to think I’m trying to take advantage, or anything…”

Han gave him a look. The idea of Luke taking advantage of anyone was laughable. The idea of Leia letting anyone take advantage of her was even more so. “Get to the point.”

“I just think she should have something,” Luke said. “But I don’t know how to—well, you know, it’s Sweethearts Day, so. There’s assumptions. You know.”

“Right,” Han said slowly, trying to keep up. “So, your dilemma is that you wanna give her something, but you don’t want her to think it’s ‘cause you like her.”

“Right.”

“Even though you do.”

“That—I—” It was like clockwork. Every time, without fail, Luke sputtered and turned a light shade of pink and glared at Han as though he’d said something awful, or insulting. “That’s not the point.”

Han laughed at him. “You’re such an easy mark.”

Luke swatted at him, hitting him on the arm. “And you’re a jerk.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Luke huffed out a breath. “Whatever. I’ll handle it on my own if you don’t want—”

“Hey, come on,” Han protested. A while ago, he might have shrugged and told the kid to figure it out, or better yet, forget about it. On the list of their problems, Leia getting nothing for Sweethearts Day was definitely somewhere down near the bottom. In fact, on Leia’s list of problems, it probably ranked at the very bottom, too.

Somehow, knowing that made it harder to ignore. If it wasn’t an official important Rebellion problem, Han always wanted to care about it more. And Leia needed other people to care about her problems, because she refused to do it.

Besides, he’d just come back from a supply run where no one had even tried to shoot at him, he’d made some money on the side from a slightly illegal transaction that her Royal Judgment would never find out about, and the Falcon was running smoothly for once. Life was good.

And if he didn’t help Luke, the kid would probably go and do something on his own, without Han to keep an eye on things.

“I never said I wouldn’t help,” Han said.

“I don’t know if I want your help, now I think about it,” Luke said, his eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of a smile there, too.

“Yeah, you do,” Han said, waving the words away. “Let’s get back to the problem. You want to get her something, and you don’t want her thinking it’s some kinda creepy romantic thing. Right?”

Luke stared at him, then shook his head again, laughing. “You know there’s a big difference between creepy and romantic.”

“Yeah, ‘s called consent,” Han said, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I just don’t want her to think I’m trying to—to replace anything. Or use it as an excuse to score points or something.”

“I don’t think you can score points with Leia,” Han said, half-distracted. He was intrigued, despite himself. It was definitely a bad idea for Luke to give Leia something for Sweethearts Day. If Han had his way, they’d just ban the holiday entirely.

But that wouldn’t make Leia feel any better.

“I know,” Luke said, exasperated. “That doesn’t necessarily stop people from trying.”

Han thought about the contact on his last mission with Leia, who’d been so obnoxiously ingratiating that Leia had voluntarily gone with Han to check on the Falcon instead of spending more time with the other man. “No kidding.”

“And I don’t want her to think I’m trying.”

“Sure,” Han said, and the answer hit him. “You know, there’s a real easy solution to this big dilemma of yours.”

 “Oh?” Luke immediately looked sceptical.

Han tried not to take that personally, and said, “Yeah. You don’t give her anything. We do. You, me, and Chewie if I can talk him into it. Can’t be romantic or some kinda play if it’s from all of us, right?”

Luke’s eyes widened. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“No need to sound so shocked,” Han grumbled, taking the hydrospanner from where Luke had left it and leaning in to peer at the X-Wing’s innards again.

“And you’re okay with that?” Luke asked.

“Sure.”

“Even though it’s for suckers?”

It was Han’s turn to glare at Luke. “Hey, it’s not my idea. I’m doing you a favour.”

“Me? It’s for Leia.”

Han grunted, and turned his attention back to the X-Wing.

“What?”

“Nothing. Don’t suppose you have a gift or anything in mind, do you?”

“Well, no, I…” Luke trailed off. “Damn it. What do you buy a princess?”

Han barked out a laugh at the sudden chagrin in Luke’s voice. “You’re asking the wrong guy, kid.”

 

*  *  *

 

They ended up debating it—actually debating it, in the Falcon’s lounge. It had started out as just Luke and Chewie discussing it, but Han had to translate, and his promise to himself not to get involved lasted all of five minutes.

“You can’t just get an Alderaanian girl flowers,” he cut in, annoyed. “They have a whole thing about it. They all mean something. You get her flowers without knowing the meaning, you’re gonna end up insulting her or something.”

“Insulting her?” Luke echoed, confused.

Han tried to explain about the old Alderaanian language of flowers, which Luke had never heard of and Chewie seemed to find fascinating. Han tried to hold onto his patience as they kept asking questions.

“Look, all I know is, dianine roses are for saying sorry. But there’s a bunch of others and you can combine ‘em in all kinds of ways to say, I don’t know… that you love someone, or for condolences, or congratulations on the new job. There’s one that’s meant to signify you’re gonna have a baby soon, too, but I don’t remember which one that was.” He raised an eyebrow at Luke. “And you probably don’t want to give her that one by accident.”

Luke reddened again. “Uh, no, definitely not.”

Chewie voiced his complete lack of surprise that the only “word” Han had needed to learn was an apology, and a suggestion that they keep a supply of dianine roses on hand for future use. Han glowered at him.

Luke looked between them, confused. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” Han said. “Look, I think flowers are out, that’s all I’m saying. Get her some chocolates and wine.”

Luke made a face. “That’s so clichéd.”

“So’re flowers,” Han retorted. “Anyway, we’re in the middle of a war, I don’t think you can afford to be picky. But if you’ve got a better idea…”

Luke thought about it. “I’d like to get her a coat, or something,” he said quietly, after a moment. “You know? Aunt Beru used to make me wear my poncho when it got chilly, and it just… it says, I care.”

Han swallowed. Luke had an uncomfortable habit of just saying things like that, all earnest and honest, and it always made Han feel a little… squirmy.

Chewie rumbled softly.

“He says that’s a real nice thought,” Han said gruffly. “But I don’t know where you’re planning to find a coat around here.”

And he really should have known where that would lead, but he was still caught off-guard when Luke turned those blue eyes on him and said, “Well, you’re due on another supply run soon, right?”

“I am not going coat-shopping. We don’t even know her size, and if it doesn’t fit properly she’ll never want to wear it anyway, and—”

“It doesn’t have to be a coat,” Luke hurried to say. “Maybe a scarf, or… a blanket. Just something nice. Something she wouldn’t bother to get for herself.”

Han made a face. That covered just about everything in the galaxy, except for weapons and maybe food. Leia had been a passenger on the Falcon often enough for Han to know that she didn’t have much.

Because she lost it all, a voice at the back of his mind reminded him. Nothing left except that white dress and a few hair pins.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll look. But don’t get your hopes up. If I don’t find anything, it’ll be a bottle and a box of clichés.”

Luke beamed at him as though he hadn’t heard that last bit, nor noticed Han’s tone. Han tried to be annoyed about that, too. He didn’t quite manage it.

 

*  *  *

 

Four days later, Han stood in the middle of a third-rate market on a fourth-rate planet, surrounded by stuff. He really wished Luke hadn’t said that thing about getting something that Leia wouldn’t get for herself. Now that he was thinking about it, he saw nothing but things Leia wouldn’t bother getting for herself. A new coat. Scarves, and hats, and warm socks. Ornaments, bags, dresses. Hair clips and ties and ribbons and brushes. Jewellery, most of it the cheap glass-and-plasteel kind.

He was both annoyed and glad that Luke hadn’t come along. How the hell was he supposed to make this kind of decision? It was Leia. He was bound to get it wrong. On the other hand, if the kid was here to do it, they’d leave with half the damn market.

In the end, he bought a colourful felted blanket from an older Ithorian seller, trying not to second-guess himself. It was a damn present, it was warm, she’d like it. He was on his way back when his gaze caught, again, on the stand for hair accessories.

She had those. She had to have those, right? Her hair was always perfectly-done, braided or twisted in some kind of complicated way that defied understanding. Han stared at one of the hair brushes, a slender, silver thing that probably cost more than it was worth. He didn’t have a clue about Alderaanian hair customs, either. Maybe it was some kind of mortal insult to buy someone a hair brush. Maybe it implied that you thought they were scruffy and needed it.

Then again, it’d be kind of fitting, if he got her a gift that ended up being an insult.

He bought it, feeling supremely stupid about it the whole time, and stalked back to the Falcon, glowering at anyone who looked at him.

 

*  *  *

 

Luke was happy, at least. He took charge of wrapping everything, and writing a card—Han tried to argue about that, but Luke overruled him, saying a card was part of the tradition.

“All you have to do is sign it,” he soothed, in that irritating way he had. “I’ll do the rest. Okay?”

Han read it before he signed, all the same.

Dear Leia,

hope this brings you joy. You’re the best. Happy Sweethearts Day.

Luke

It wasn’t a big declaration. It wasn’t anything Han couldn’t agree with, and yet, he berated himself for the whole thing. Why the hell had he told the kid that they should all throw together to get her something? Why had he gotten himself involved—again?

Too late now. Han swallowed and signed his name next to Luke’s, before passing the card to Chewie.

Chewie didn’t hesitate for an instant.

[It was a good idea you had,] he growled softly.

“No need to sound so shocked,” Han muttered, even though he knew the Wookiee hadn’t sounded shocked at all. He’d sounded proud. That was far worse.

 

*  *  *

 

Sweethearts Day arrived without much ceremony a few days later. Rogue Squadron was slated to spend most of the day in a training exercise, and Han had a vague idea of helping the Rebels repair and re-jig a liberated hyperspace antenna, but Luke seemed to think presents ought to come first.

“So go give it to her,” Han told him, when Luke showed up at the Falcon’s ramp halfway through breakfast.

“That kinda defeats the whole point of us doing this together,” Luke said.

Chewie barked his agreement, giving Han the sort of look that said he was being a jerk.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think she’ll be all that happy if the three of us come trooping into the command centre to present her with this damn thing,” Han pointed out. “Get Threepio to do it.”

Luke frowned. “But I want to see her open it.”

Han rolled his eyes. He did not want to see Leia open it. Well, he did, but he didn’t. He definitely didn’t want to have to look her in the eye until maybe a few weeks later when hopefully she’d forgotten about the whole thing.

Presents. What a dumb idea.

“I thought we could do it at breakfast, you know, all of us have breakfast here together,” Luke said, “but you weren’t up, and she’s already at work now.”

Han wanted to scowl at him for just assuming that breakfast in the Falcon was always a ready option, but Chewie got there first, groaning at the thought of getting up even earlier just to give Leia a gift that she might as well get later. Did they really have to be so formal about it?

Han shot him a look that asked now who’s being a jerk? and said, “Fine. So invite her over for later.”

“Yeah?”

Han shrugged. “Chewie’s making dinner.”

Chewie growled.

“Yeah, you are, ‘cause it’s your turn,” Han said. “And don’t try to tell me it’s extra work, neither of ‘em eat that much.”

The Wookiee shrugged his massive shoulders, and acquiesced. Suspiciously quickly, in fact. It wasn’t until later that Han figured out why, when Chewie made a passing remark about how Han ought to make an effort to be at least a little nice later.

“You’re one to talk,” Han said, looking up from his work on the antenna.

[You would not have invited them if I hadn’t goaded you into it,] Chewie said smugly as he took a roll of superconducting wire from Han. [You’re too stubborn sometimes.]

“Oh, sure, that’s your story now,” Han grumbled, fighting back the chagrin that wanted to sweep through him at being played like that. “Anyway, I’m nice. I can be nice. I’ll be nice to her if she’s nice to me, how about that?”

[She’s always nice to you,] Chewie said.

“See, that,” Han said, turning back to his work, “that right there, is how I know you don’t know what you’re talking about. You got a lot to learn about humans, pal.”

[So do you.]

 

*  *  *

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but by the time dinner rolled around, his insides were squirming a little, and not from hunger.

Leia arrived last, looking pale and tired, her features set in that determined way that said she was powering through. Han wondered whether it was just work, or whether the day was getting to her. Like Alderaan’s anniversary had, a couple of months ago.

Han’s insides stopped squirming. It didn’t matter. This whole thing might be dumb, but that didn’t matter, not the way other things did.

 “Sorry I’m late,” Leia said. Her smile was tired, too, but genuine. “I had a lot of work.”

“We figured,” Han said, stepping aside so she could enter the ship before he raised the ramp. “’s okay, I haven’t even washed my hands yet.”

“It smells good,” Leia commented as she preceded him along the ship’s hallway. “You cooked?”

“Chewie did.”

“It smells Corellian.”

It meant nothing that she knew that. There was no reason for that to send some kind of weird jolt through his chest. “Yeah, he pilfered some stuff from the spice rack.”

Leia greeted Luke and Chewie and sat down, and gave Han a pointed look when he went to join her. It took him a moment to remember what he’d said about his hands, to make her feel better about being late.

He went to wash them again, then sat down.

“Before we eat,” Luke said, “there’s something… hang on.” He jumped up, retrieved the package from where he’d stashed it, and held it out to Leia with a bright look on his face.

“We got you something,” he said. “All of us. I really hope you like it.”

Leia took the wrapped gift from him, the movement reflexive and practiced even as surprise flickered over her face. Ever the princess, accustomed to accepting gifts gracefully. “Thank you,” she said. She took the card, flicked it open, read it.

Han sat slouched back in his seat, using the time to inspect the outlet beside the table. It was starting to come loose. He’d have to try and tighten it up, or replace the fitting.

“Oh, Luke,” Leia said, a little more softly than she usually spoke. “This is lovely.”

“It’s from all of us,” Luke said quickly.

“No, I know,” Leia assured him, just as quickly. “I meant the card, and—I’d better open this, right?”

Flimsi rustled somewhere to his left. Han frowned and poked at the outlet.

He wanted her to like it. He wanted her to throw it at him and say something scornful. He wanted it to bring her joy, like the card said. He wanted to scoff at the very idea of it all.

He couldn’t help sneaking a glance as Leia finished unwrapping. So he got to see the full array of emotion pass through those dark eyes of hers: more surprise, a bright spark of joy, and something deeper, something like that earnest look Luke sometimes got, the one Han hated and loved and could never respond to.

“This is beautiful,” Leia said, a smile breaking out over her face. It was a princess smile—genuine, but definitely a little formal. Han had a strong suspicion that she might be hiding behind the princess thing a little bit. He knew how Leia got when she was emotional, knew how she used her princess reactions as cover.

If she wasn’t Leia, he thought, she’d be bursting into tears right about now.

He was really glad that she was Leia.

She picked up the hairbrush, ran her hand over the blanket. “Where did you even get this? It’s beautiful.”

And then Luke said…

Luke said…

“Han picked them out.”

“I did not,” Han flared, levelling a finger at Luke. “You told me what to get.”

“I just said maybe a blanket would be—”

“Right, and they didn’t exactly have a lot to choose from, so—” He stopped, annoyed. “Anyway, it’s what they had, okay?”

Leia was looking at him like she was trying to see through him, that smile still on her face, except that it had widened with something like relief—and amusement. Han felt his hackles rise. “What?”

“Nothing,” Leia said, the smile definitely a grin now. “Thank you.”

He wanted to tell her to thank Luke, but she already had, and a contrary part of him didn’t want the kid getting all the credit. “Sure.”

“And thank you,” Leia said, turning to Chewie. Chewie growled loudly—and reached out to ruffle her hair.

The effect was impressive. The glossy, neat strands were tugged from the coiled braids at the back of her head to form scruffy loops and twists, catching the light to form an odd sort of halo effect on top of her head.

Han watched as Leia visibly reminded herself that she was a princess, and that princesses did not reprimand their hosts.

Han, lacking any such restraint, said, “Chewie. Just because we got her a hair brush doesn’t mean you gotta put it to the test.”

Chewie had already realised his mistake, and growled an apology and an explanation. Han translated. “He says sorry.”

Chewie gave another growl, insisting that he translate the rest.

Han sighed. “He says sorry, he’s just used to doing that with—uh, friends, and family. It’s a Wookiee thing,” he added, not wanting to dwell on the subject of family and how Chewie seemed to be in the process of adopting Luke and Leia because of Han, and what that meant. “It’s how they show affection. Really, you should be honoured.”

“Of course. I—” Leia swallowed. She reached out and placed a hand on Chewie’s paw. Her hand was so tiny that it almost sank entirely into the fur there. “Thank you.”

Chewie rumbled a soft reply.

“He says you’re welcome,” Han said, adding, “Mostly for the new hairdo.”

Chewie gave an exasperated growl.

Leia raised her eyebrows at him, and he swore that underneath the arch look was something like relief. “Is that why you always look like that?”

“Like what?” he asked, not sure if he was insulted or pretending to be.

“Like you don’t own one of these,” Leia said, pointing at the hair brush.

“I own one of those,” Han retorted, which was almost true; a comb was close enough, right? “I just don’t spend all my time in front of a mirror. And I don’t go around insulting people who invited me to dinner.”

“I’d never insult Chewie,” Leia said innocently.

Han glared at her, feeling an odd sort of relief himself. This, he could handle. This was good. “Sure, give him all the credit. See how that works out for you.”

“I didn’t think you wanted credit,” she shot back, eyes sparking.

“Food,” Luke cut in, before Han could come up with a reply. “Chewie, let’s give them some food, that might shut them up.”

Han feigned outrage. “You don’t just shut up royalty, kid, how dare you. Did you hear that, Princess? Off with his head, right?”

“I’m not sure food will do it,” Leia said, to Luke. “We might need a gag for him.”

Han shot her a betrayed look. “I was sticking up for you.”

They kept bickering throughout dinner, falling into the familiar routine of it. Provoke, attack, counter, parry. It felt almost like they’d just made it through a battle, escaped from the Empire by the skin of their teeth, something like that.

Just like they always did.

Leia left first, after another round of thank-yous and hugs for Luke and Chewie. Han walked her to the ramp to let her out. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but she’d poked fun at his manners again during dinner, so he insisted on being a gentleman.

And Leia rolled her eyes, and let him.

She stopped at the top of the ramp, and turned back to him. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “You said that already. It’s okay.”

“I mean thanks for what you did.” She looked better than she had earlier. Still tired, but the spark was back. Some of the weight from earlier was gone, and there was a little colour in her cheeks. Maybe Luke had been right.

But that didn’t mean they had to make a big deal about it. “I already told you, it was—”

“Yeah, I know.” Leia’s smile was suddenly wicked. “That’s what I meant. Thanks for tracking down the only blanket and hair brush they had on Xadesh.”

Busted. Damn it. He cast around for some excuse, but then the last few words penetrated, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “How’d you know I was on Xadesh?”

“Han. I’m command. It’s my job to keep track of missions.”

It was, but he was pretty sure that she couldn’t have named everyone else who’d gone off on some errand or other lately. He smirked. “Yeah? You keep track of all the supply missions that get flown around here, do you?”

She looked ever so briefly flustered, and he felt a surge of triumph.

Busted.

“Don’t change the subject,” Leia said, with a haughtiness that confirmed that he was right. “I was thanking you.”

“Well, thanks right back,” he said, grinning. “For very professionally keeping tabs on me, because it’s your job.”

Leia gave him a look she seemed to reserve just for him—fed-up, impatient, and edged with something that could almost be fondness. “You are such a—”

“Great guy?” he prompted, when she didn’t go on. One thing he’d learned about Leia: she was bad at insults. He didn’t know if it was an Alderaanian thing, or a princess thing, or just a Leia thing, but she rarely managed to bring herself to call someone names. Even him. “Handsome bastard? Brilliant pilot?”

Leia glared at him, but it wasn’t a real glare, just a mostly-amused narrowing of her eyes. “You mean cocky and full of yourself?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she made an exasperated noise at the back of her throat, shook her head… and then she stepped forward, and hugged him.

He reacted on autopilot, hugging her back a little awkwardly. “Sure,” he said. “That, too.”

Leia laughed, a small vibration against his abdomen, and leaned away again. He let her go at once. “You just agreed with me,” she said. “I better go before something freezes over.”

“That’s what the blanket’s for,” he quipped.

She laughed again. She had the item in question tucked under her arm, and glanced down at it. “I like it,” she said. “Reminds me of home.”

Han shot her an incredulous look. He’d seen the royal palace of Alderaan. He knew how the royal family had dressed. Moreover, he knew Leia. “Doesn’t really look like it’d belong in a palace.”

“I don’t mean the palace,” she said softly. “I mean home.”

He had no reply to that. She had a knack for doing that sometimes, blind-siding him with a comment that left him lost for words, and thoughts, and feelings. There was an odd sort of glow in his chest, warm and insistent and making him want to grin like an idiot, or find something to punch, or run a mile.

Leia cleared her throat, shifted her stance a little. “Happy Sweethearts Day, Han.”

Han swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Happy Sweethearts Day.”

She gave him one last smile, and turned away, disappearing down the ramp. Han stood and watched her go, feeling… he didn’t know how he felt. There was an odd sense of rightness, like he’d just fixed something that he hadn’t really known was broken. Like he’d reached outside of himself, and put a little bit of the galaxy back together.

That was a very Leia feeling. He wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

It was worth it, though. The whole thing had been worth it.

He went to rejoin the others, already preparing to deny everything.


End file.
